It’s nearly midnight, but there’s still a crowd staked out in front of the venue when we step into the warm August air — enthusiastic fans hoping for one final glimpse of us getting into our bus, as well as paparazzi waiting for a money shot they can sell to gossip rags and entertainment websites. They line the metal guard rails that cordon off the path from the building to the buses, snapping photos and waving excitedly when I emerge through the doors.

I hear Lincoln and Carly chatting as they follow me out, but I’m too tired to focus on their conversation. Now that the adrenaline of the show has worn off, exhaustion is hitting me full-force. My very bones feel weary as I lift my feet to walk, following Francesca through the gauntlet of screams and cheers.

“Felicityyyyyy!”

“We love you!”

“Great show tonight!”

I should probably stop and sign impromptu autographs, but I can hardly rally enough energy to wave. All these lights, this noise. All this yelling. Fake laughs at strangers’ jokes and big smiles despite aching cheeks… I feel utterly drained, my soul-batteries depleted to the dregs. My introverted self is screaming for a reprieve, if only to recharge with a good book, a cup of tea, and some quiet.

I see the light at the end of the tunnel: two black sleeper coaches that say WILDWOOD on the side in the same brush-script font that decorates our album covers and guitar picks, website headers and merch-store items. There’s one bus for the road crew and equipment, the other reserved for the band.

Home sweet home, for the foreseeable future.

We’re nearly to the coach doors when a woman breaks free of the crowd. Before the security detail can react, she’s around the metal barricades and stepping directly into my path. I go still, the world crashing to a sudden halt as I stare at her, hardly recognizing the frail creature before me. She stares back, her feverish gaze roaming my face, my dress, my bare legs. The hair, the heels, the red lips.

“You grew up,” she whispers. Her smile is as wobbly as her footing. “You’re so beautiful.”

And you’re so changed.

I’m vaguely aware I’ve stopped breathing, but I can’t seem to remember how to start again. Smiling lopsidedly, the woman lurches forward, as if to embrace me…

And all hell promptly breaks loose.

Two members of my security team close in, grabbing her before she makes it another inch. She doesn’t fight them as they haul her back toward the metal barriers like a limp sack of flour.

“Stop!” I cry out, barely recognizing my own voice. “Please, stop. Don’t hurt her.”

York and Linden pause to look at me, their beefy muscles on full display as they hold her in place.

“Do you know this woman?” York uses his sternest voice, his eyes ping-ponging back and forth between me and the woman in his grip.

I feel Carly and Linc pressing close at my back, concern ebbing off them in waves. In the distance, I hear a growing chorus of curious murmurs from the crowd on all sides, as well as the ceaseless sound of camera shutters clicking down, immortalizing this moment for all eternity.

“She’s… she’s my mother.”

I hear a soft gasp from Carly. A low curse from Lincoln. The guards drop their hold but don’t step away, their eyes locked on the woman who raised me — her bloodshot eyes, the too-thin arms sticking out of a sweater that’s seen better days.

Dread churns inside me, potent as whatever drug is flowing through her veins.

“Sweetie, I knew you’d be happy to see me if I came!” She smiles, a jittery flash of crooked teeth. “Can we go somewhere and talk? I need to… You should… We’ve got some things to discuss with you.”

We?

I feel suddenly faint. Disembodied, as though I’ve shifted into slow motion while the world around me carries on at regular speed. I can’t keep up. Can’t respond. Can’t move. Can’t breathe.

Paralyzed, my mind spins with just one question.

Is he here, too?

Before I can move, she reaches forward and clamps her hand around my bicep with surprising strength, considering how she’s wasted away since I last saw her. She’s a shadow of her former self — her curves replaced by gaunt angles, her once-lustrous chestnut locks hanging dull and limp around her drawn face.

I try to pull out of her hold, but she clutches me with the tenacity of a barnacle.

“Come on, sweetheart, I just want to talk.” Her eyes shift restlessly across my features. “You want to talk to your Momma, don’t you?”

Linden and York look conflicted about whether they should intervene. Carly murmurs my name, her voice saturated by apprehension. Francesca is chewing her lip, worried about the spectacle we’re creating as more and more press snap photos of our strange huddle.

My mother starts tugging at my arm, trying to pull me away from the group. To get me alone.

I want to stop her. I want to scream at the top of my lungs.

But…

I’m five years old again, hiding in the closet from the monsters in my own house.

Distantly, I hear the sound of a door banging open as someone tears out of the building at top speed.

I’m six, and the oak table is in pieces on the kitchen floor, legs snapped clean through, just like the bone in my arm.

“Felicity.” She licks her lips, a nervous habit.

I’m seven, wedging a chair under my bedroom door before I go to bed, in case they come home from the bar screaming again.

“Let’s go, sweets. It won’t take long.” My mother shifts from foot to foot, eyes darting around like a fish in a bowl as a towering figure appears at my side.

“She’s not going anywhere with you.”

The growl is so potent, so ferocious, I’d be scared if it didn’t recognize the man it’s coming from. Slowly, with meticulous precision, he reaches down and peels my mother’s grip from my arm, digit by digit. He tosses her hand away like a piece of garbage, replacing her hold with his own. His warm, callused fingers stroke my skin, as if to erase an unwanted stain.

Ryder.

The world rushes back, time resuming its normal flow as a breath bursts into my screaming lungs. I look up at him, his towering presence a welcome sight despite the dark fury contorting his features, and am overcome by the most irrational thought.

He’s here, now.

I’m safe, now.

“I suggest you turn around,” he mutters in the coldest tone I’ve ever heard come out of his mouth. “And crawl back under whatever rock you slithered out from.”

My mother’s face contorts into a glare. “Do you realize who you’re talking to?”

“Oh, I know all about you, Kandace.” His voice is lethally soft. “And the few stories Felicity told me about you and your husband were enough for me to decide, with absolute certainty, you’re never getting near her again. Certainly not alone.”

“You don’t control my relationship with my daughter!” she hisses, her eyes flying to mine. “Tell him, sweetie. Tell him you’ll talk to me.”

Bolstered by Ryder’s presence, I finally find my voice. “I don’t have anything to say to you, mother.”

At my words, Linden and York close in again, each manacling one of her arms in a massive grip.

“How dare you? I’m your mother!”

The laugh sounds more like a sob. “Really? Could’ve fooled me.”

“What kind of daughter won’t speak to her own flesh and blood?”

“The kind that knows you aren’t here just for quality time.”

“You ungrateful little whore.” She spits out the word, a gob of saliva landing by my feet. “Tarted up like you’re something special with your big record deal. Well, I’ll tell you something, Felicity Wilde — you’re not special. You never were.”

I am still as death, staring at her. When I speak, my voice is a hollowed-out shell. “How much?”

Her eyes flash. “I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”

The air goes tense as I take a small step forward and repeat the question with quiet vehemence.

“How. Much. To. Make. You. Go. Away.”

“I don’t—”

“Just tell me,” I snap.

“Fifty-thousand dollars!” she blurts, a feral hunger in her eyes. “And that’s a bargain, considering you stole my inheritance out from under me like a common thief. I don’t know what you said to my mother to make her change things in your favor, but I wouldn’t get too used to that money — your father and I are contesting the will. She was a sick woman, and you took shameful advantage of her.”

My spine stiffens. “I didn’t do a thing except love her. Gran left her estate to me because she loved me, too.”

“How could anyone love you?” she seethes.

I flinch, despite myself.

“Enough!” Ryder barks. “Get her out of here.”

Linden and York strong-arm her away without another beat of hesitation. She struggles this time, turning to lock eyes with me before they drag her into the crowd, out of my life.

“You should’ve dealt with me, Felicity.” Her grin is chilling. “Now you’ll have to deal with him.”

Long after she disappears from sight, the words ring in my ears.

Carly passes me a cup of chamomile tea. The whole band is gathered in the bus’s small galley kitchen and dining area, eerily silent as they watch me take a scalding sip. The only sound is the slight rumble of the bus beneath us as we careen down the highway through the dark night. I’m feeling steadier with each passing mile we put between us and LA.

“You can all stop hovering,” I murmur. “I’m not going to fall apart or skip out on the tour.”

I’m done running.

Surprisingly, it’s Lincoln who breaks the silence. “We’re not here because we’re worried you’ll abandon ship, Felicity. We’re here because when your friends are in a rough spot, you show up.”

My smile is soft but warm. “Thanks, Linc.”

“No thanks necessary.” He shrugs, pushes to his feet, and heads to the back of the bus, where six luxury bunk beds line the walls. “On that note, I’m gonna crash. And when we wake up — viva Las Vegas, bitches.”

He winks and disappears down the hall.

Aiden starts to follow, but something stops him. There’s an unreadable expression on his face as he turns and stalks in my direction. My eyes, wide from his abrupt change of course, go even wider when he leans down and plants an unexpected kiss on my forehead.

“Tomorrow will be better,” he says simply.

My eyes are smarting as he walks away, leaving me alone in the kitchen with Carly and Ryder. The former, seated on the plush leather couch beside me, is worriedly gnawing on her lip. The latter, leaning against the wall, looks lost in thoughts I can’t begin to decipher.

“We should all get some sleep.” I set down my mug and rise to my feet. “I need to change out of this dress and wipe this makeup off my face.”

Carly jumps up. “Let me help you.”

“Carly, I’m fine.”

“I never said you weren’t.”

“You didn’t say it, but you’re treating me like I’m made of glass. I’m not going to break. I’ve been putting myself to bed since I was four. I’ll manage just fine without your assistance.”

“Honey—”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore, okay?” My eyes press closed. “I just want to crawl into bed and forget it happened.”

She doesn’t say a word. She just leans in and wraps me up in a warm hug.

“What was that for?” I ask when we break apart.

“I need a reason to hug my best friend?”

I laugh lightly. “I guess not.”

“I’m going to go claim a bunk as far from Lincoln’s snores as I can get.” Carly’s eyes dart from me to Ryder and back again. “You two… get some rest.”

She turns to leave us, and a bolt of panic shoots through me at the thought of being alone with him for the first time since our pre-show fight.

“Carly—”

Too late. She’s already halfway down the hall, disappearing into the small bathroom by the bunks. Standing with Ryder in the dim light of the kitchen, my heart is full of so many contradictory feelings, there’s hardly room for all of them at once. Between our heated words, the concert, and my mother’s appearance… I can hardly sort out one emotion from the next.

“I guess I’ll turn in, too,” I murmur.

He grunts noncommittally, not shifting from his spot.

I take a few steps toward the hall, closing some of the distance between us in the process. He doesn’t move toward me, but I feel his eyes on my skin like a physical weight, tracing the lines of my body as if to reassure himself I’m still standing here.

My feet falter.

My eyes lift to his.

My voice trembles out.

“Thank you, Ryder.”

If possible, he goes even stiller. “Don’t thank me, Felicity.”

My brows lift at the hard edge in his voice. “Why not? You saved me, out there.”

“It’s my fault she was here in the first place.” The whisper is fragmented, so low I can hardly make out his words.

“What do you mean?” My heart starts to pound. “How is it your fault?”

“The only reason she knew how to find you was because of this tour. Because I dragged you back to this life.”

I glance up into his face, reading the lines of guilt etched there. The pain in his eyes is so stark, it stops me in my tracks.

“First of all, you didn’t drag me back, Ryder. Route 66 did.” I sigh and run my hands through my hair. “Secondly, this isn’t my first run-in with my parents. Not by a long shot. Why do you think I was using a fake ID when I first met you? I’ve been trying to escape them for a long time. Coming back here… I knew the risks.”

“Maybe. But I’m the one who dragged you into the spotlight the first time around. If you’d never met me… you’d be safe.”

“Ryder…” My voice catches in my throat as my eyes move over his face. I want to step forward until this distance between us disappears. To feel his arms close around me, pulling me tight against his chest.

I used to think his arms were the safest place in the whole world.

“You don’t get to take all the blame for this. When we got that record deal, I could’ve said no. I could’ve walked away. But I didn’t.” I shrug. “I made my own choices. I chose this life.”

I chose you.

He’s staring at me and the look on his face is filled with so much longing, I nearly fall to my knees at his feet and beg him to make me forget all the reasons we aren’t together, all the wrong turns we’ve taken that led us away from each other.

Just for tonight. Just for a few hours, in his arms.

But I don’t. I can’t. Not with a bus-load of people around us. Not when I know things will be different tomorrow, in the harsh light of day.

“Goodnight, Felicity,” he says carefully.

“Goodnight, Ryder,” I whisper, equally cautious.

Neither of us moves.

You’ve said goodnight.

Why aren’t you moving? And why isn’t he?

I stare at him, across three feet of space, wondering why it feels so far. And he stares back at me, a whole galaxy of different desires alight in his eyes.

I’m not sure who moves first. Looking back, it might’ve been me, but I can’t say with any sort of certainty. All I know is, suddenly we’re chest to chest, breaths tangling in the space between our faces. My spine arches up as his lips begin to descend, and…

The bathroom door swings open with a bang.

We spring apart at the sound like two horses spooked by a gunshot on the starting line, whirling to watch as Carly barrels into the hall, dressed in a sleep-shirt that falls to mid-thigh. When she catches sight of us, her face contorts in a wince of regret.

“Sorry!” she hisses in a stage-whisper, sliding into her bunk across from Aiden on the bottom row and tugging the curtain closed. “Don’t mind me!”

But the moment has shattered like glass.

Heart thudding, I keep my eyes averted and swallow hard enough to clear some of the haze from my head.

“Right. Well. Night, then.”

He doesn’t respond as I walk out of the kitchen, grabbing my overnight bag off the couch as I go. I close myself inside the bathroom and lock the door before I do something supremely stupid. Something that makes my nerve-endings sing with sheer anticipation as I unzip my dress and tug on my thin nightgown. Something that has my knees weaker than water as I stand at the sink wiping scarlet off my still-tingling mouth.

When I step back into the hall, the lights have been doused. My breaths come far too rapidly as I wait for my eyes to adjust. When they do, I don’t see Ryder anywhere, and the only sound I can hear is Lincoln’s rhythmic snores rumbling behind the pulled curtain on my left. Shoving my bag into an empty storage cubby, I quickly ascend to the top-level bunk above Carly’s, my bare feet cold on the recessed ladder rungs.

It’s not until several moments later, after I’m tucked firmly in bed, that I hear Ryder finally make his way down the hall from the galley and close himself inside the bathroom. I close my eyes, trying to sleep, but I’m still wide awake when he hauls himself up into the bunk above Aiden’s — directly across from mine. I hear a rustle of bare skin against sheets, and feel my mouth go dry.

Pretend you’re asleep.

Don’t you dare look at him.

Rational reason abandoned, my eyes sliver open. He’s lying on his side with his head propped on one hand, watching me. Our gazes lock instantly in the dark. I notice his breaths are just as unsteady as mine as one minute creeps by, then another.

His eyes hold a promise he can’t yet make; mine an apology I can’t yet voice.

Neither of us says a word as we lie there, simply staring at each other. Nor does either of us move to pull our curtains closed. If not for the narrow hallway between us, I could almost convince myself we’re lying side-by-side in the same bed.

It’s a soothing thought, after all that’s happened today.

The bus rolls ever onward beneath us, headed eastbound, the rhythm of the road lulling me toward sleep with each spin of the tires. When my heartbeats have slowed, when my eyes have grown too heavy to keep open another instant, I finally succumb.

Ryder’s two-tone eyes, holding mine in the darkness, are the last thing I see before I slip under.